


Maiden By The Stream

by thatgirlwhodraws



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwhodraws/pseuds/thatgirlwhodraws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight with the bear, Jaime and Brienne seek a moment of privacy alone to wash up.  Jaime pushes a little too far, and the tension finally snaps between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maiden By The Stream

The dress Brienne had been given was beyond saving.  She looked less like a woman in a dress than she ever had in armor. Despite the finery of the soiled fabric, she showed no hesitation in ripping it from her body where she and Jaime came to kneel by a cold stream.  She was nearly vicious in tossing the pink fabric aside.

 

There was no modesty left in her after the bath.  Her lack of hesitation spurred Jaime on to join her, to shrug himself out of his clothes and toss them aside.  This was no steaming hot bath, but he wanted to feel _clean_ again.  The two of them scrubbed in silence.   His eyes were following the softer lines of her body, the hint of curves that no matter of training could hide.  Beyond his initial judgement of her, he had begun to appreciate her looks, different as they were from the women he was accustomed to.

 

The silence was heavy. Jaime figured he should likely let Brienne lick her wounds and leave her be.  So of course, he said something.

 

"Does it hurt?" Jaime asked, his tone light, though it earned him a sharp look from Brienne.  Though, her glare was nowhere near as hard as it had once been.  She had listened to his story and taken it for what it was.   She had protected him better than anyone ever had.  She had more honor in her than anyone he'd met, man or woman. Then he had returned, saved her life. 

 

She touched the long marks at her throat, where they had been dressed.  "I am fine, Ser Jaime." Brienne stated tightly.  She too had refused milk of the poppy for her injuries-- Jaime didn't blame her.  After one attempted rape, then being treated like entertainment, she had every right to want her wits about her.   Still, Jaime couldn't help himself.

 

"I don't suppose men like scars on women as much as women do on men.  Though I suppose it might hide that you're a woman more than your armor does, all scarred up like that."  Jaime grasped a handful of moss, using it to scrub the dirt off of his arms, his chest.  Brienne was watching him like a hawk now, her mouth set into a grim line, lips gone white from pressing them together.

 

"Tell me," Jaime urged, scrubbing at a stubborn spatter of mud clinging to his arm. "Have you ever been with a man before?  I would think those scars might sour your chances a little mor--" He grunted, startled as Brienne grabbed him by the hair, and for an instant he thought she might hit him. 

 

Then her lips met his in a clash of teeth and tongue, and he let that thought slip from his mind. _Ah._

 

It was difficult to tell if her ferocity came from lack of experience, or the tension that had built between them since they'd first departed from Lady Stark's "care".  He could swear he tasted blood from where she bit at his lips, her hand releasing his hair to curl on the nape of his neck.

 

When she pulled back for breath, her face was flushed with heat.  She glanced down -- Jaime's hand had drifted to fit against the curve of her hip, his thumb cool and brushing above her hipbone.  

 

"Apologies," Jaime husked, starting to pull his hand back.  His brows rose when Brienne captured it, pressing it back against her hip.  He watched her face as his thumb brushed up her hip and traced towards her navel.  She held his gaze until he let his nail scrape across her skin, her eyes darting down as a shiver chased up her spine.

 

This time, Jaime was the one who kissed her.  Drawing her down on top of him didn't feel as awkward as he thought it might have.  She was huge -- but she moved where he put her, parted her lips for the questing brush of his tongue.  His hand slid up from her hip to cup her breast, thumb brushing a nipple until he felt her growl against his lips.  Brienne's nails dug into his shoulder as she pulled back from him, her strong thighs clamping on his hips.  She rolled them in a swift movement that left him almost sprawling atop her. 

 

"Do not treat me like a maiden." Brienne breathed, staring up at him.  Jaime couldn't help but laugh, breathless, leaning back now that he had himself supported on his knees.  He dragged his nails rougher down her stomach, just to watch her arch and shudder.  Cersei would've never allowed him to blemish her skin in such a way.  Brienne welcomed -- no, _commanded_ that of him.  The thought left him grinning. 

 

"You are no maiden." Jaime agreed, lowering his mouth to her chest, to drag his tongue down her skin, catch droplets of stream water gathering in the hollow of her navel.  Her breath hitched with obvious surprise when his beard tickled the inside of her thighs.  He had an absurd thought of her crushing his head between her thighs like a watermelon.

 

He wouldn't doubt she could do it.  That thought aside, he lowered his mouth to taste her. 

 

She bucked like he'd stuck a sword in her, and he smiled against her skin at the thought, tongue lapping against her.  Her hands clamped in his hair -- but he found himself not minding the reminder of her strength, the hardness of her body against his. Brienne twitched at every brush of his tongue, moaned quiet when he dipped inside her, his nose brushing the hardness of her clit.

 

"Get _on_ with it--" Brienne breathed out, and he hummed, pulling up off of her.  Jaime had thought if he did this -- perhaps he would take his time, make love to her sweetly. 

 

But Brienne was no maiden. She demanded something different of him.  Bracing himself over her, he let the heavy weight of his cock rest against her thigh, silently asking.  Blue eyes -- blue as sapphires, flicked down at him.  She wet her lips with her tongue.  "Are you coming to make me wait all day?" She asked, softer than before.  She had lost the heat of command in her voice.

 

Jaime needed no further permission.  His palm spread out flat on the ground beside her, steadying before he pressed in.  She was plenty wet around him, welcomed him with warmth, even if she was _tight_.  But he had done this before, with Cersei.  He had taken a girl's maidenhead before.  So he went slow, so slow that Brienne looked like she might hit him, though when he sank in to the hilt she gasped, and did not move.  Seemed glad for the pause as her face tightened around the edges, teeth gritted before her lips parted in a silent O. 

 

"Jaime," Brienne groaned, quiet.  Jaime gave an experimental roll of his hips.  Her body opened to him, even with the tightness, allowing for the movement.  Once he'd begun, she started to rock against him. Nothing but their panting breaths filled the air, hot huffs of shared air between them.  The slap of flesh was so quiet it was lost among the gurgle of the stream behind them.

 

Until Brienne snapped.

 

" _Harder,_ " She rasped, her fingers twisting cruelly tight in his hair. "Harder, Jaime, damn you. I'm not going to _break._ " Brienne growled, her hips bucking into him, making him grunt in surprised pleasure. 

 

He gave her no answering quip. Only adjusted the lift of his hips, then began to move in earnest.  With every ounce of strength he could muster -- hard, harder than he'd ever taken Cersei or any other woman, he thrust up into her, the slap of skin on skin unmistakable between them.  He left Brienne scrabbling at the grass under her, fighting for a hold, to withstand the onslaught of his thrusts. Grinning above her, Jaime laughed, light and airy.

 

"Is this-- hard enough-- for you, my lady?" Jaime nearly purred.  Brienne did not answer.  Her jaw was slack with pleasure, her body squeezing around him in milking pulls. Jaime's grin widened.  Reflexively, he reached with his right arm, phantom limb tingling as he thought to spread his fingers across her belly. The reminder came to him in a second -- the limb that ended in wrapped cloth.  His hips slowed and his smile faded.

 

Surprised, panting, Brienne stared up at him, her eyes flicking to the movement of his arm.  Quick as a viper, her legs tightened on him, and she rolled them, never loosing Jaime from inside of her.  She pinned down his left wrist with one hand, held it beside this head, her free hand on the other side of his head, leaving his useless right arm hovering between them.  She was panting quietly above him, sweat and stream water dripping off of the tip of her nose.  

 

Jaime was trapped.  But queerly, he didn't feel panic.  She had his good arm pinned, but he still felt that they were equal.  She did not do this to shame him. 

 

"I trust you." Jaime found himself repeating the words all over again.  Watching her. Brienne's gaze softened, and her grip shifted, fingers interlacing with his and holding on tight. 

 

"And I you, Ser Jaime." Brienne's voice was the sweetest whisper he'd ever heard, and he felt himself throb within her at those words.  When she began to move again, it was slow. Her hips rising and falling with inexperience, until she found a pace that suited them.  

 

There was no more jest or demands spoken between them-- only panting breaths, the chorus of moans. Jaime's hips bucked up to meet her, to bring her pleasure as she rode down onto him.  When her eyes squeezed shut, signaling the closeness of her orgasm, he fucked up into her harder, his hips thrusting with purpose, stomach clenched as he fought of his own pleasure in favor of hers. His fingers squeezed down on hers. 

 

When she came, it was an impossible clench of muscles on his cock, the milking pull of her insides as she choked out his name in a low gasp. _Jaime_ , she moaned.  Not Kingslayer.

 

She slid her hips off of him, shaky, and wrapped her free hand around his cock, jerking him with unsteady fingers.  Jaime groaned at the feel of it, lifting his head to kiss her, to muffle his own moans lest he say something that would ruin the moment between them.  When he came Cersei was the furthest thing from his mind.

 

Coming down, she lay atop him, her fingers trailing over the sticky mess between them.  She would be walking with an ache between her legs, but she'd felt worse pain in battle.  She was still holding his hand, her arm crossed over his chest, the grip loose now.

 

They both knew they would have to get up, resume their duties and return to Kingslanding.  But for a few moments, Jaime could forget he was a Lannister, laying beside a woman who was likely the most honorable person he'd ever known.  And she cared not for his titles, and better yet, _respected_ him, in a way he doubted anyone had in a long time.  If they ever had.

 

He might love her.  Even if this was the first and only time they might have together.


End file.
